It Had to be Good! - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1929 - 5. VI. Week Two – Chapter 1: "Like a Kid Again"

VI. Week Two –

Chapter 1: "Like a Kid Again"

Lowell Fredricks glanced down at the ticket stub in his hand.

Annual

National Christmas Decorations

& Lighting Trade Show

December 2~7, 1929

Saint Louis Arena[1]

(Dairy Palace)

ADMIT ONE

He had avoided coming on the 2^nd, a Monday, to sidestep the buzz and crush of handshaking salesmen patting themselves on the back and divvying up the bigwigs with contracts to fill.

Truth was, Lowell was not a buyer from Wanamaker's or Gimbel Brothers, but a man in search of Christmas spirit. He needed it for his job, and he felt the press of time. The crowd should be thinned, and the energy to 'buy' lessened on this Wednesday morning.

Going down a square-sides tunnel, he emerged out into the open and found himself on the main floor of a huge indoor stadium. He immediately glanced up. Someone had told him a thirteen-story building could fit in here, and now he saw that was no joke. Fixed seating for what looked like fifteen thousand rose in tiers around the circuit of this great oval space. The sports floor, upon which he had just stepped, provided more than enough square footage for an ice rink, and he recalled the front desk man at the Saint Nick Hotel mentioning a professional hockey team coming to Saint Louis to play here. That man had also informed Lowell this facility was brand new. Having just completed its intended purpose of hosting an International Dairy Exhibition, the citizens in town had accepted to keep it and make it 'The Arena' as a venue for other purposes too.

He turned to his left, and started strolling down the first aisle. Here, smaller mom and pop outfits had set up lines of tables and strung lights to illuminate their holiday ware.

One booth was manned by a smiling matron, her table artistically arranged with candles: beautiful, old-fashioned tapers with hand-done attachments in colored wax. Some with holly, others with wreaths or bells, this was a charming tradition Lowell remembered from his childhood.

Next to her display was a booth of the walk-in variety. Decorated with crêpe paper skirts, the tables formed a 'U,' and featured cotton batting ornaments of two types: flat ones where the fluffy fabric was cut in shapes of Santa coats, snowmen, or angel dresses. Printed paper faces, arms, boots, etc. rounded out the illusion. The second kind were fully formed animals moulded out of the starched fibers. Cows, dogs, camels and sheep were all expertly modeled and finished with realistic colors.

As he moved on, his mind drifted to thoughts of Bettina Martin. He was genuinely intrigues by the crazy, 'romantic' life that carnival troupe must lead. But, far from being the near-underworld denizens popular belief held out about 'carnies,' they seemed to be an extended family where normal and eccentric always commingles with ease and unrest at various times.

Bright lights and a commercial banner up ahead grabbed his attention. Irwin was a leader in celluloid manufacturing, and they had perfected a way of coloring their plastic novelties. As he approached, Lowell considered that if folks were strapped for cash by Christmas next year, outfits like Irwin might thrive, because their goods were cheap and cheerful.

He went into their booth, and immediately noticed a 5-foot-tall Christmas tree at the back. It sat on top of a table, right below their banner, and twinkled with amber, green and blue light bulbs. Everywhere else on the branches were celluloid 'ornaments,' mostly hung by ribbons, but some via built-in hoops.

Walking down the length of the table on his right, he scanned display box after display box – 'merchandisers,' these boxes would arrive at the store ready to be set up and sell their own content. He paused at one, called the 'Kiddy Xmas Toys Assortment,' and had to admit they were charming. Four rows of figures led up to a top flap with the product name and a printed scene of a child on Christmas morning – complete with fireplace and tree.

The bottom row was comprised of Santa emerging from a redbrick chimney top. The second row contained narrow figures of Saint Nick on the move – one with him in a sleigh, and the other of him on a fire truck. Both modes of transport were loaded with the Saint's gifts for good boys and girls. The third tier housed a row of standing Santas, replete with sacks on their backs, and the top level hosted about sixteen roly-poly Kris Kringles.

Other self-merchandizing boxes down the line held animal figures, sailor boys, nurse girls, seals, swans and ducks with raincoats and hats.

They were all charming, and at only 80¢ a dozen, retailers were committing to pre-orders left and right.[2]

As Lowell was leaving the Irwin booth, he considered how many more things there were now for the holidays than when he was a starry-eyed boy on Xmas morning.

That thought made him smile; that thought brought him one step closer to capturing that elusive 'holiday spirit.'

A series of booths followed. Each selling display boxes of greeting cards, stationary sets, and gift tags. Holly predominated.

These were neighbored by sellers of traditional holiday boxes for gifts, and the trendy manufacturers of the hottest new idea – 'Gift Wrapping.' The concept for the upstarts was that people would actually go to the bother of buying and cutting and securing printed holiday paper on their gifts because it could be individualized, and the pretty tissue and ribbons could be made to conform to almost every box shape and size.

The pre-printed box folks had tradition on their side, for Lowell was like a lot of people whose heart rate automatically accelerated seeing the familiar holly on white background box under the tree. It 'meant' Christmas to a lot of people and that might be hard to change. Besides, the holly box manufacturers had expanded to make sure each and every present could be accommodated. Lowell even paused to pick up a 4-foot-long, holly box shaped like a giant metronome – the tag said: 'Men's Umbrella Box - p5526. Thousand $250.ºº.' Time will tell, he thought, if 'Gift Wrapping' would ever be able to beautifully hide an umbrella![3]

Turning the corner, and coming back up the central row, the adman began to consider something he'd just realized.

The three main countries of origin for these holiday goods – Germany, Japan and the United States – all approached the representation of Santa Claus in a different way. Not only were German figures dressed in a variety of suit colors, from white to yellow, to gray, to pale blue, but there was a certain 'old man' meanness to these Kraut Kris Kringles. Most of them had pinched faces behind those scruffy, overly realistic whiskers, and the redness applied to cheeks and nose-tips looked more like alcohol poisoning than child-friendly good cheer. These fellows appeared like drunk uncles, and not Santas at all.

In contrast to the German obsession with realism, the Japanese evidentially conceived of Santa as a pudge-face cartoon. Not quite shown as a real person at all, doughy Saint Nicks from the Orient all had red moon faces like pink potatoes, or maybe more like spuds with a smiling case of rubella.

In contrast to that, American Santas – while still showing variety – all exhibited the desire to be good. Loving and friendly, Saint Nicks made in the U.S.A. were like the uncle types of their German cousins, but warm and fatherly to their nieces and nephews. Lowell also considered that a bit of god-like reverence and adoration he ascribed to the Nipponese Santas also lived in the American Santas' aspect. 'For us,' he thought. 'Santa is magical and should look it.'

Lowell stopped by a booth selling costumes and masks. He touched the red fabric of one, dismissively noting that they had just used the same cloth in white to be a stand-in for Santa's ermine. The masks, scraggily beards, and stringy white wigs all reinforced the contrast of Lowell's high image of the costumers at work on Glen at Famous-Barr.

He picked up a mask, and saw the makers hadn't even tried to properly reproduce Santa's cap. Instead, glued to the forehead was the straight edge of a piece of red material something like a kerchief. It hung back, over the hair, like the pointed bandanna on a cowboy's head. He set it down, remembering how nice Glen's cap was – even outfitted with a small spray of holly on the wide brim of fur. Yes, Glen in his costume was definitely going to make a friendly, all-American Santa Claus for the kids to visit with.

Lowell could not wait to witness that for himself.

˚˚˚˚˚

Bettina Martin glanced at her wristwatch: 11:30, the troupe has been performing for 90 minutes already.

The little electric hotplate in the green room was glowing red and quickly heating the pot of coffee she was making. Actually, this was the second pot, and as she took it off the heat, lowered in the aluminum hopper with the grounds and switched off the power, she set the first pot on a tray of treats waiting on the table with more mugs.

She picked up the tray, thinking how nice it was the store had provided a proper area for them with dressing tables, mirrors, and racks for their street clothes/costumes. This meant they could all get ready in the morning at the same time. Some stores only shoved them in a back corner, or herded them like cattle into a storage room, but not here. Here it was a proper room, and it mattered tremendously that one whole wall was windows, for since Santaland had natural light as well, it helped that the troupe got their make-up done in the same element.

Bet walked through the open door and down the small hallway. Even as she approached the portal to her destination, she could hear the voices of kids enjoying their wait for Santa Claus.

She entered the Throne Room via the back door, and immediately turned left. The photographer's station was here, and she carefully ambled to the side of the camera, where both the store picture-taker, a sweet man named Bauer Barrett, and his young assistant were busy capturing a moment.

Bettina set the tray down and watched.

Glen Curtis sat on Santa's throne with a little girl on his lap. Both were still and looking in the direction of the camera. Bettina felt her heart swoon a bit, for not only did the girl seem happy, but so did the young man beneath the beard.

Flash!

The photograph taken, the child's smiling mother stepped up to them. She lifted the girl into her arms as Santa reached out to a stack of booklets on a small table to his left. He placed one – which at 8½x11 was enormous for little hands – into her grasp, and said, "Be a good little girl until I visit you on Christmas Eve, all right?"

The young one bit her lip as she fumbled with her souvenir of Santa's visit and nodded earnestly.

While mother and child made their way to collect a claim ticket from the photographer's assistant, Bettina walked over to stand before Santa's throne. She could feel Glen rising to his feet behind her. The excited crush of voices dimmed to an expectant quiet.

She clasped her hands, and announced: "Children and parents, Santa Claus has just received an urgent telegram from the North Pole. He'll be taking a 10 minute break, but will be right back."

A muffled chorus of Ah's and Oh's met her as she turned into Glen's twinkling-blue gaze. She led the way when he gestured, and as they passed, she saw the photographer and assistant were already pouring coffee for themselves and ogling the dish of donut holes she had also provided.

Safely in the green room, Bet closed the door, and Glen took off his Santa cap.

"Here," she told him. "Let me do that."

She lifted up his wig and glided it back off his blond wavy hair so it didn't mess it up; she thought she caught a whiff of coconut as well. Then she carefully unhooked his beard and set it down while Glen rubbed his cheeks and chin.

"Thanks."

"How ya holding up?" she asked, pouring him a cup of coffee.

Glen stretched his arms, rotated, and the girl heard his back pop in a couple of places. She handed him the cup. "You look tired."

The young man tossed a donut hole in his mouth and chewed. Through a devilish grin, he told her, "Maybe, but I'm enjoying myself."

She poured coffee in another mug and sipped it.

"A little birdie told me someone's special day is Saturday."

Bet felt a skeptical glower creep across her face at Glen's words. "Lorna, I suppose."

"Nope. Alden, actually."

"Well, don't you fuss with anything. You just concentrate on making those kids happy."

The blues-singing cowboy was suddenly awash with sincerity. "I'm doing all right, aren’t I?"

"Of course, Glen. You make a fantastic department store Santa. You should consider doing it next year too."

Again, Glen's response was overly dour. "I just might. Where in the world will you be?"

She tried to laugh it off. "I'll send a telegram to the North Pole and let you know."

He chuckled, and Bettina noticed the front of his coat, belt buckle, and under-garment padding needed some realignment.

She put down her coffee and walked right up to him. "How are your pants? Comfy; secure?"

"I think so."

"Good."

He stiffened his posture, and automatically put his hands in the air as the determined young woman grabbed onto his suit.

She lifted the front skirt of his coat, reached up it, and told him "Hold still" as she prodded, lifted and shoved pillow No. 1 two inches to the left.

Being this close to Glen, she could perceive just how lean he was, but wiry too in a muscular, working-man way. She imagined she could almost feel his breath on the top of her head; he must have been glancing down at her as she worked.

Satisfied with his costume corpulence, Bettina pulled back to look at him.

Again, she launched in, and drew the wide fur flap of his coat to be straight, and lifted the belt so she could slide it to ride dead-center on the faux ermine.

"Careful," he warned with his mellow baritone. "You'll make my FB seamstress jealous."

She laughed, and without her really being conscious of it, her palm flew up and landed flat on his chest. In a confusing moment of wondering why the young man's heart was beating so fast, the door opened.

She glanced over and stifled her laugh just as Lawrie stepped in.

He was in his full toy soldier outfit, with white trousers, yellow surtout framed in gold braid coming together at the buttons, and tall fur hat with a flyswatter plume right in front. His initially smiling face instantly dropped as he saw Glen and Bettina touching and laughing – the burning expression of his cold eyes belied the applied rosy dots painted on his cheeks.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

Bettina flushed, not with embarrassment but with ire. She removed her hand from Glen's chest and focused on Lawrie.

"Don’t act like we're doing anything in here."

Lawrie ignored her – in fact stepped around her – to confront Glen. "I'm warning you right now, buddy, Bettina is off limits. Singer would fire you on the spot if her saw this."

Glen stood tall. "Let him then, because, as Miss Martin just told you, nothing's going on."

"Listen you – you stage chicken – you don’t know what kind a man you're dealing with here."

"Who? Singer, or you? 'Cause you aren’t quite a man yet, are you son?"

Lawrie's mouth opened in amazement just as Bet latched onto his uniformed arm. "That's enough. You're both acting like brats, so time to break it up."

Lawrie turned to face her, like he could not quite believe his ears; hurt was in his voice. "But – "

"But nothing." Bettina laid down the law. "It's not your break time, Lawrie, so go back to your station."

He hesitated, closed his mouth, and Bet felt his eyes probing her face.

"Now, move along, Lawrie. I have to help Glen get back into costume."

The young man extracted his arm from her grip and exited. A withdrawn sullenness trailed his steps.

Bettina inhaled and picked up the beard. She motioned for Glen to sit, and he did.

As she looped one end over his left ear, he said, "Hot-headed kid, huh?"

"He's all right."

"Don’t tell me he's all bluster, for I can tell that he's not."

"No, he can get scrappy, when he needs to. But, don’t. That's the last thing we need."

"I hear ya. But – "

"But nothing. He's harmless."

After she affixed the other side of his beard, Glen took her hand. Having her full attention, he told her, "I doubt, Bet, that you can accurately see what's going on with that boy."

˚˚˚˚˚

Lowell Fredricks was lost in his own thoughts again.

He felt his stomach drop just as the elevator girl rotated her brass control knob and announced: "Ninth floor. Santaland Circus."

The doors opened and he stepped out.

The immediate rush of sights and sounds nearly took his breath away. He had been on this spot before, with Bettina Marin, when all was quiet and under preparation, and when the sign was covered, but now kids and parents clamored, the double doors stood wide open, and a banner in the fanciful, colorful script of a circus poster invited all into Santaland.

He stepped in. Children and parents formed a long serpentine line. They were funneled by velvet ropes, but there was also plenty of space to spread out, and the troupe members – all in vibrant costumes – wandered the rows to entertain the kids.

Everything had come together! The entire ceiling and 3 walls without the windows were striped in a festive big-top design of canvass white and periwinkle blue.

The hundreds upon hundreds of wooden rods had not only been painted gunmetal gray, but stood erect along the perimeter to form 'cages.' A top piece, looking like the gathered ruffles of a curtain valance, was light blue and mounted from the ceiling in front of the bars. Now Lowell understood the foot-high boards with the scallop edges that he had seen sitting on the floor earlier.

As Lowell began to walk back along the side aisle leading straight to Santa's Throne Room, motion caught his eye. Strategically placed along the path, behind the bars and spotlit, were the twins' mechanical animals. In one corner, Dandiprat Dave stood in his full Lion Tamer's outfit and cracked his pony crop at the rearing motorized feline. He said "Whoa, big fella!" using the oversized doll chair in his hand as a keep-away. His audience of children laughed in delight.

Lorna, in a country-style dress, with a tiny straw hat and giant spring-mounted daisy bobbing from it, predicted for a pair of rowdy boys how a baby elephant's ears were about to flap, and when that happened, the holiday mischief-makers shut their mouths – or rather, placed amazed fingers in them – and asked most respectively how Lorna knew that was going to happen.

The woman caught Lowell's glance for a moment and winked in an amused way.

Motion to his right drew his attention just as a full-size black bear stood up on its hind legs and suddenly put paws together to beg like a terrier wanting a biscuit.

Wilkins and Shuler tumbled by, cartwheel-fashion. They were dressed in classic clown costumes, with broad floppy collars, and stiff conical caps.

They ducked into one of the circulation areas between the enclosed space for the line, and balanced on one another. Needless to say, parents and kids were amazed and broke out into Ough's and spontaneous applause.

Just as he passed a mechanical harlequin figure placing his cap on his head, Lowell heard the Ough-ga! of a bicycle horn from behind him. Turning, he saw kids jumping up and down in place with excitement as Singer Martin came riding by on his child-size tricycle. He was dressed like a comic cop, with oversized shoes, cap and badge. His face was completely made-up in white, with friendly pops of vermillion for his cheeks, lips and tip of nose. He rode around in a circuitous zigzag, with precarious leanings to the left and right like he could barely control his vehicle. That movement, coupled with his funny and stoic expression, made the kids around him dissolve into riotous laughter.

He honked his horn at him, but gave Lowell a friendly nod and smile as he rode past.

As he followed his departing figure, Alden was the last troupe member Lowell spotted. That man was also made-up, but as a magician, and looked well suited to his gray-striped morning trousers and white jacket. In his hands, three purple balls were constantly in motion, but a signal from him had told Lowell he was glad to be seen.

As the adman stepped to his side, Alden let his juggling balls collect in his hands. "Have you see Santa's dressing room yet?"

"Nope."

"Well then, let's go."

Alden led the way towards the non-descript opening at the end of the room, while Lowell's final glance around Santaland caught two more baby elephants behind bars near the portal to the inner sanctum. One of the pachyderms stood on its hind legs, flapped its ears and wagged its trunk. Lowell felt like laughing himself.

Through the narrow passage, Alden and the adman entered a more subdued environment. Kids and parents waited patiently, and Glen's hushed baritone speaking to the child on his lap seemed to be the sole sound.

The two men stood near the corner, and Lowell was almost overwhelmed.

In here, the ladies with the rolls of crepe paper had worked miracles of loveliness and magic.

The lighting fixture in the center of the room, which was like the bottom of a frosted-glass toboggan, was illuminated, but a second great ring was suspended around the outside of it. Presumably made of something light, like cardboard or papier-mâché, it was completely wrapped in red crepe. Great festoons of twisted paper streamers of red and green came off of this ring and went up to the ceiling, where a long trail hung down and ended in crimson-foil bells.

The wall behind Santa's dais was likewise treated in crinkled paper festoons, this time framing the large papier-mâché doodads and gewgaws that made Santa's throne suitable rococo. Half columns hugged the walls, all striped in red and green paper, and instead of capitals, each was crowned by a bouquet of more red-foiled bells.

On either side of the steps up to Santa's seat of power, tall candle torchieres flickered in soft amber-colored flame bulbs to lend just the right atmosphere.[4]

But the real magic in the room was evident for everyone to see. Glen Curtis sat on his red velvet throne and paid loving attention to a small boy on his knee. This child was shyly talking about how his sister and he had both been good that year; he promised it, in fact.

Glen let out a mellow-toned Ho-Ho-Ho, and the child's eyes grew round in hopeful anticipation of a merry Christmas after all.

The two on the chair rotated their attention to the smiling photographer, and slowly posed.

Flash!

In Lowell's mind, it was clear that Glen was a natural born stand-in for Kris Kringle. Seeing the open and jovial way he interacted with kids, and his perfect 'look' of the old Saint, the young man in the beard confirmed his thoughts and feelings from the trade show. Famous-Barr's Santa appeared like the real one should: not a drunk uncle, not a pinch-face potato with scarlet fever, but a real and genuinely kind man – yes, as an American through and through.

Lowell 'felt' something, and his suspicion made him rotate his head to find Alden staring him straight in the face.

The carny man leaned over and whispered: "You look like a kid again."

After Alden pulled back and he could see his eyes, Lowell admitted, "It's all so amazing. That's exactly how I feel – like a kid again!"